


What Can I Get You?

by hawthorn_and_holly (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, M/M, Muggle Life, Muggle London, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16749910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/hawthorn_and_holly
Summary: “What can I get you?”The dark head popped up from under the bar, surprising Draco, pulling his eyes from the high glass shelves along the back wall. As soon as he focused, processing details, he felt his mouth slacken, dropping open as he recognised the green eyes now looking at him with the same shock he was feeling.“Pint of cider,” Draco said automatically. When the bartender didn’t move, he waited, holding out a tenner until his pint finally arrived before him. The change dropped into his hand and he picked up the glass, condensation already forming by the time he’d sat in the corner nearest the door. Ready to bolt as soon as he’d drunk an acceptable amount of this Muggle drink. Meanwhile, his mind was racing.What the fuck was Harry Potter doing here?





	1. Chapter 1

“What can I get you?”

The dark head popped up from under the bar, surprising Draco, pulling his eyes from the high glass shelves along the back wall. As soon as he focused, processing details, he felt his mouth slacken, dropping open as he recognised the green eyes now looking at him with the same shock he was feeling.

“Pint of cider,” Draco said automatically. When the bartender didn’t move, he waited, holding out a tenner until his pint finally arrived before him. The change dropped into his hand and he picked up the glass, condensation already forming by the time he’d sat in the corner nearest the door. Ready to bolt as soon as he’d drunk an acceptable amount of this Muggle drink. Meanwhile, his mind was racing.

_What the fuck is Harry Potter doing here?_

Draco had avoided Wizarding London for years now, since the War and everything after. He’d walked out of Malfoy Manor without looking back. Three short visits to see to his house elves and property, change the last of his money to Muggle funds. There had been enough there to set himself up in a quiet flat not too far from the city - the Muggle city - and do his very best not to be noticed. His days were all the same, with nothing to separate one from the next. It was quiet and bland – and nothing like his wizarding life, nothing like the horrors of the years before. It was exactly what he had thought he wanted. Nobody knew him, nobody recognised him, and not a single face sent him back to his time Before.

Until the new barista at his local coffee place started, unruly dark hair barely covering the interesting scar on his forehead.  
Draco bolted, fear burning through his veins as he walked fast enough to raise his heartrate. He was sure the barista hadn’t seen him, busy as he was in the morning rush. The taste of fear stayed with him all day as he walked aimlessly around the city until he stopped here, finally - a nameless pub uncomfortably close to King’s Cross station.

_What the fuck is Harry Potter doing here?_

“Hey,” a voice said, a body dropping a moment later into the seat in front of Draco. He blinked as Harry looked back at him.

“No glasses,” Draco found himself saying foolishly.

“Finally got my eyes fixed,” Harry replied. “Makes it a bit easier to fit in.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Draco found himself asking. The Muggle expletive was crude, but he had to know.

_Why have you disrupted my carefully arranged life?_

“Muggle London?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Draco replied. “You’re The-”

“Do not fucking say it,” Harry interrupted, his voice almost savage. “That is exactly why I’m here. Walked out of The Ministry yesterday, emptied my vault, and here I am.” He started angry, but as he explained his voice grew more defensive. “Another week, another stupid ‘Harry Potter says wand safety is important’ campaign. Can’t walk down the street, can’t just do a job like anybody else.” He shrugged. “I just want a bloody life. Just a life like anyone else.”

“So no-one knows you’re here,” Draco repeated.

_You’re running away, too._

“No,” Harry replied. “I tried for a job this morning, and this is a trial too - I had to Confund the owner to give me a break to come and talk to you.”

“Why did you do that?” Draco asked. “Come and talk to me, I mean.”

“Nobody has seen you for the better part of three years,” Harry replied. The silence hung for a few moments as Draco tried to figure out what Harry was implying. “So I wanted to know...if you’re okay,” Harry added, looking uncomfortable.

“If I’m okay?” Draco repeated blankly.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine,” Draco said. When Harry looked at him expectantly he added, “I have a place in Shoreditch. It’s not big but it’s fine.”

“Right,” Harry said.

Draco had the distinct impression Harry had no idea where Shoreditch was, exactly.

“What about you, where are you staying? Do you even have any Muggle money?” Draco asked. _Why am I asking him this?_

“I have some,” Harry replied. “I stayed with a...friend last night.”

Draco frowned. “What about tonight?” he found himself asking. “Do you have plans?”

“No,” Harry admitted. He rubbed at a mark on the table with his thumb. “Didn’t exactly stop to think.”

Draco stared at him, wondering if he was completely crazy for thinking what he was thinking. “You could stay with me,” he said, finally allowing the words out. “For a bit, I mean, if you want to.”

Harry stared right back, shock and surprise and relief on his face. “Seriously?” he said. “I mean, that would be brilliant, but...are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Draco said slowly and realised that he was in fact fine with it. “I have a sofa, I mean it’s not huge but I can enlarge it. If you want.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Look, I think I’m done here in a couple of hours? Do you want to...”

“I can wait,” Draco said. “Might go for a walk, first. Nothing else to do.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Great. Thanks. I’d better go back.”

“Sure,” Draco replied. He watched with a slight frown as Harry returned to his place behind the bar, taking Draco’s empty pint with him.

_Might be a good chance to figure out what the fuck you’re doing, Malfoy._

+++

It was three hours before Harry’s boss told him he could go.

Draco spent the time thinking, asking himself why, after almost three years actively avoiding anything to do with the Wizarding community, he invites the first wizard he sees home to stay with him. And Harry Potter, of all people. Surely by the time they walked to King’s Cross they’d be sniping at each other, falling back into their old ways. Why the hell had he even spoken to Harry? The only reasons he could come up with were rife with subtext he didn’t want to face. Things about loneliness and isolation and desperation that made him short of breath.

Draco ignored it and returned to the bar, sliding into a seat next to the door. He passed the rest of the time watching faces, pushing down the anxiety that he might see another familiar face. None appeared, and it was a relief when Harry dropped into the seat opposite, holding only a rucksack.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said awkwardly to Draco.

“No problem,” Draco said, pulling his attention to the man sitting across the table. “Shall we go?”

Draco figured Harry wouldn’t have an Oyster, so they turned towards King’s Cross so he could buy one.

“You’re better with Muggle money that I was,” Draco murmured, mindful of his tone. _Try not to start an argument._

“I grew up as a Muggle, remember?” Harry said.

It took him a moment to find the right bills, but they were still out of there with enough time to jump on a Northern line train. It was crowded with commuters, and they didn’t talk much. Once they emerged from the station into the cool air, Harry waited, following Draco as he turned left up Old Street.

“Did you bring much from your vault?” Draco asked as they walked.

“Everything,” Harry said. His backpack was tiny, but it echoed like a cargo hold when he shook it. “Undetectable Extension Charm,” he said. “Hermione taught me.”

“Of course she did,” Draco said automatically. He winced at his tone. “Sorry.”

Harry walked quietly for a minute. “Fair comment,” he said. “Who else would we know who can do every spell there is?”

_Salazar, he’s really not angry. Maybe…maybe we don’t have to be what we were._

“I wasn’t apologising for what I said, Granger’s brilliant. I was apologising for the way I said it,” Draco told him. “You’re right, she always was the brightest in our year.”

Harry was looking at him with barely concealed surprise. He was about to speak, but didn’t.

“We’re here,” Draco muttered, turning into the courtyard of his building.

Harry remained silent until they stepped into his flat.

“Look, I’m really grateful for this,” Harry said. “I do have money, it’s just all in Galleons. When I can figure how to change it over, I’ll just leave you alone.”

Draco stared at him. “Is this because of…” he trailed off. “Look, it’s been ages, since school almost since we’ve seen each other.” He huffed an embarrassed laugh. “I think it was just…habit. Old habit.”

Harry stared, and Draco was surprised at how nervous he felt waiting for the reply.

_Since when had you cared what Harry Potter thought?_

Finally, Harry sighed. “Okay. But it would be really great if it didn’t happen again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, knowing his face was pink. “Look, the sofa’s in here. Let me find my wand.”

“You don’t keep it on you?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Don’t really need to. Muggle stuff’s pretty easy without magic, once you know how it works.” He looked up. “Plus a wand is pretty bloody obvious out here.”

Harry nodded, watching Draco retrieve his wand from a drawer. He waved it towards the sofa, which swelled into a double bed complete with linen.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“Bathroom’s in there, kitchen through that room,” Draco said. “Make yourself at home.”

“Right,” Harry said. He still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Are you hungry?” Draco asked. “I’m an okay cook but there’s a great burger place around the corner.”

“Do they deliver?” Harry replied. “It’s a long time since I stood up all day.”

“Yeah, they do,” Draco said. “Any preferences?”

“Lots of pickles,” Harry said, “otherwise, no.”

“Right.”

Draco called the burger place, doubling his regular order and adding pickles to both burgers. It wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes; he was a regular customer and always tipped. He knew it was an American custom, but it worked to get his order prioritised, so he did it anyway.

_Nothing else to spend my money on._

“Drink?” Harry asked, holding up two bottles of Butterbeer.

“Where did you get those?” Draco asked. He was already holding out his hand before he finished speaking.

“Emptied my fridge before I left,” Harry said. He grinned as Draco drank from his bottle. “How long since you’ve had one of these?”

“A long time,” Draco admitted. He looked at the bottle, surprised at the melancholy that came up in him.

Harry must have seen it because he asked quietly, “Why did you leave?”

Draco sighed. He looked at the two of them, then the sofa-bed. A wave of his wand – why had he stashed that in his pocket? – and the sofa returned to its original shape.

“Bit premature there,” he said, dropping onto one end. _Am I really about to have this conversation with Harry Potter?_

Harry hesitated for a second before doing the same. “Thanks,” he said.

“My father died,” Draco said. “In Azkaban.”

Harry’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. “I know,” he said.

Draco shrugged. “That’s why I left. He died, I inherited the estate.”

Harry stared at him. “What about your mum?”

“She died…before that.” The words hurt even now. “In Azkaban. So.” He tried to laugh. “Everything was mine.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I couldn’t have left without my parents’ money either.”

Draco swallowed. He’d almost forgotten Harry’s family was gone too.

“Does it get easier?” The question slipped out without his permission, and Draco wanted to claw it back.

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“Missing them.” Draco let out a shuddering breath. It was the first time he’d said it since they’d gone.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He stopped, and Draco could see him thinking. “They’ve always not been there.”

Draco nodded.

_Don’t push it. Merlin knows you do not want to be having this conversation._

“Do you miss your parents?” Harry asked.

The question stung more than Draco thought it would. He swallowed hard, considering the question. Wanting to be truthful with something important was strange. _I’ve lied a lot in my life. Why do I want him to know this?_

“I never saw my father again once he went to Azkaban,” Draco said. “His absence was…strange. Staying at the Manor without him was unsettling.”

“What about your mother?”

Draco put his bottle down. His hand was shaking. “I haven’t thought about this in a long time,” he whispered. Before he could go on, there was a knock at the door. _Dinner._

“I’ll go,” Harry said.

Blindly, Draco reached into his wallet, pulling out far too much money. “Give him this,” he said, the words sounding choked up. While Harry took their meals, Draco took deep breaths. He had not expected to be talking about his mother tonight. Not to Harry Potter.

“They’re the same,” he said when Harry returned with two identical paper bags.

They ate for a few minutes, savouring the food before Draco put his down. He looked at it for a moment, feeling he should answer the question still hanging in the air.

_What about your mother?_

“I visited my mother twice before she died,” he said. “Azkaban was…difficult. I mean, I know it’s a prison, it’s meant to be, but she was nothing when I visited her. She wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping…” Flashed of memory intruded, and he saw her eyes, full of despair and regret, heard her hoarse voice tell him she loved him as he left for the last time.

“She made me promise to leave the Manor, start a new life. She knew…” he paused, grateful Harry wasn’t pushing him on this.

_Say it._

“She knew how much I’d grown to hate my father.”

Draco needed something to do with his shaking hands, so he picked up his burger. The bite moved around his mouth mechanically, but he couldn’t taste it. It was difficult to swallow without the Butterbeer, but his bottle was empty.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, picking at his hot chips. “I know you used to look up to him.”

Draco barked a laugh. “I idolised him, I think we both know that.”

Harry hesitated, then said, “‘My father will hear about this,’” his voice quiet and low. His eyes were on Draco, watching to see if he’d crossed a line.

“Did I really sound like that?” Draco asked, feeling a smile pull up one side of his mouth.

“A little bit, yeah,” Harry said. He chuckled a little, still testing the waters. “Remember the hippogriff?”

Draco shuddered, though he knew he was smiling. “That thing was bloody terrifying.”

Harry grinned but didn’t speak.

Draco felt the smile fade as he remembered what they’d been talking about before the hippogriff. “He changed everything,” he said. It was still difficult but he felt a little calmer, less teary. “Not my father,” a deep breath, but his courage failed him. “The Dark…You-Know-Who. When he took over the house, when he brought that snake with him and pushed us away…I think that’s when my father realised what it would be like.”

Draco could see Harry’s confusion shift to understanding which was good – there was no way he was saying even ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’, let alone his actual name.

“And you?” Harry asked. “When did you realise what it would be like?”

Draco looked down at the half eaten meal on his lap. “I always knew what it would be like,” he said. “It was like my father, but worse.”

Harry muttered, “Merlin,” but nothing else.

“Anyway,” Draco said. He took a deep breath. “My mother died a week after I last saw her. My father lasted another year. The only reason I knew he died was because it was all over the front of the newspaper.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.

“I walked out of the Manor, took everything I could carry out of our vault and just…left.” He smiled tightly. “My Undetectable Extension Charm isn’t as good as yours. I shrunk stuff instead.”

“Nice,” Harry murmured.

 “Yeah,” Draco said. Another deep breath. “Anyway. Now I’m here.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Harry asked.

“Not tending bar,” Draco said. He made sure to smile a little, tempering the gentle tease.

“Yeah, well I have no idea where to get Muggle money, and I’m not about to steal it,” Harry said, grinning in return. “I figured if I just worked for a bit, maybe Confunded someone to let me stay at a motel or something without paying, I’d be okay.”

Draco looked at him – shoulders hunch, face turned down. “You really don’t want to go back, do you?” he said. “Not even to get Muggle money.”

“Not even to get Muggle money,” Harry confirmed. He sighed. “I know it would be easy enough, I could probably cast a Disillusionment Charm or something. But it’s not about being recognised.”

“It’s everything. All of it.”

Harry looked up, surprised Draco had understood so readily. “Yes.”

“I know,” Draco said. “Everywhere has a memory. Especially Diagon Alley.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He sighed. “So, clearly you have some Muggle money, now.” He looked pointedly around the small place. “Not all that much, though.”

“Hey,” Draco protested. Warmth flowed through him, though; they were relaxing in each other’s company. “I don’t need more than this. I have made a couple of trips back, Disillusioned of course. To sell Malfoy Manor and get the money changed over.” He raised his wand. “Had a new wand made.”

“I noticed,” Harry said.

“They snapped the old one,” Draco admitted. “Bunch of vigilantes after my father avoided the Dementors at Azkaban.”

_I can’t believe I told you that._

“They attacked you?” Harry said. He sounded surprised. Upset, maybe?

“Another good reason not to go out much,” Draco said. “And once my father died, an excellent reason to leave.”

“Did you really stay for him?” Harry asked.

“I stayed because without his money I would have ended up Confunding someone to let me work in their bar,” Draco said pointedly.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said. He stretched suddenly, crumpling up the remains of his meal. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Draco replied. He knew his meal was only half done but this conversation was making food less than appealing.

Harry took out his wand, Vanishing their remains. He looked at the wood, sighing.

“It’s always weird,” Draco said, seeing the question in Harry’s eyes.

“Yeah, I kept reaching for it today,” Harry admitted. He rolled it between his fingers, feeling the smooth wood moving between his fingers.

Draco found himself watching Harry’s fingers. It was odd, but they’d never been here before – sitting quietly without tension stretched thin between them.

It was comforting, he realised absently, watching the wand roll slowly back and forward, his eyes flicking up to Harry’s face, fascinated to see his expression change as he thought.

“So if you don’t work in a bar, and you don’t do anything else for money, what do you do all day?” Harry asked.

It took Draco a second to realise he was being asked a question. “What do I do?” he repeated. _What do I do?_

“Yeah,” Harry asked. “I mean, I do not want to pour drinks all day for the rest of my life,” Draco snorted a laugh at the disgust on Harry’s face, “but what else, I mean,” he waved one hand, “what else is there?”

Draco laughed, though it wasn’t all that funny. “I…do a lot of stuff,” he said. “I brought a bunch of N.E.W.T. textbooks with me. Sometimes I practice spells.” He shrugged, the smile sliding as he struggled to describe it. “I volunteer sometimes.”

_Merlin, do I really do so little?_

“When I first came here, I walked a lot. Watched people, tried to figure out how things worked. Found a library, borrowed books, learned about Muggles.”

“And now?” Harry asked.

“Now?” Draco asked. “Now I think about what I could have done with an actual life. I drink coffee, I run sometimes. I see a lot of plays. I cook, I read.”

“Wow,” Harry said.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic,” Draco said. He sighed. There was no point hiding this now. Not when he’d shared so much already. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I have enough money to live without doing anything, and I have no idea what to do here.”

Harry didn’t answer.

_Salazar. Why did I tell him that?_

“Look, I’m going to go to bed,” Draco said. He stood up, not looking at Harry. “Transfigure the sofa when you’re ready. Stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” he heard as he walked into his bedroom. Draco closed the door before sitting on the bed. His head fell forward into his hands.

_What the fuck was he doing? And why had Harry Potter being here made him realise how directionless he was?_


	2. Chapter 2

Draco groaned, rolling over to squint against the morning light. It was hardly bright, but his head was pounding. Too little sleep, but his brain was racing again, and he knew it was pointless trying to relax enough to drift off again. At least in the night he’d made a decision.

“Morning,” he said to Harry as they met in the kitchen. “Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry replied, running one hand through his hair. Draco hadn’t thought it could possibly look wilder, but he was proven wrong. It was oddly intimate, seeing him first thing in the morning.

“So,” Draco said when they were both sitting with cups of coffee, “I thought about your situation last night.” He winced. Not the creepiest thing he could have said, but hardly the most innocent, either.

“Right,” Harry replied, still looking a little bleary-eyed.

“If you want, I could come back with you. When you go to collect…whatever it is you need to collect. Empty your vault, sell…whatever you need to sell.”

It had sounded a lot nobler in his head, the idea of accompanying Harry on his admittedly vague trip back into wizarding London.

“I emptied my vault already,” Harry said automatically.

“Right. Well. Was there anything else you needed to do? In the wizarding world, I mean,” Draco said lamely. He stopped talking and looked down at his coffee cup. _Idiot._

“I own a house,” Harry said. “Plus I left most of my stuff there anyway.”

“Right,” Draco said. He had no idea where this conversation was going now.

“I don’t know…do I have to go back to do that?” Harry wondered. “How do you communicate with them, anyway?”

“With who?” Draco asked.

“Wizards,” Harry explained.

Draco stared for a moment. “I don’t,” he said.

“What, never?” Harry asked.

“Who would I communicate with?” Draco asked, confused. Harry was looking at him with an odd mix of shock and pity. It was disconcerting. Why would Harry Potter pity him?

“You don’t…there’s nobody you talk to?” Harry asked. “Nobody from school?”

“No,” Draco replied. “Most of the people I knew at school weren’t exactly friends.” He looked down again, conscious of the pressure and heat on his fingers, clenched around his coffee cup. “I lost touch after school.” _When I barely left the Manor._

“Right,” Harry said. “I was wondering too, how did you change your Galleons to pounds?”

“There’s a fence,” Draco admitted. “Someone…my father knew.” He shrugged. “Rips me off every time, but not much I can do.”

“But he’ll do it, right?” Harry said urgently.

“Yeah,” Draco answered. “I can take you today if you want.”

“That’d be great,” Harry said.

Draco looked up to see Harry frowning at him. “What?”

“How did you sell your house?” Harry asked. “I mean, I need someone to organise it for me. And I’ll need to send a couple of owls…can you even do that from here?”

“If you can pay, you can send…letters,” Draco said. “If you’re willing to go back for an afternoon, it’s all easier from the Leaky Cauldron. Rent a room for the day, and you can write your letters and send them. I’ll get Arcturus to meet us there if you want. He’s the real estate agent.”

“Right,” Harry said. His eyes were still clouded. “Look, I might take a walk. Think about how I want to do this. If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Draco said automatically. “Oh…I don’t have a spare key.”

“Not a problem,” Harry replied. “I can make a copy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Draco replied, feeling foolish. He’d been out of the wizarding world long enough to stop thinking in terms of what was possible with magic any more.

It only took Harry a second to make a copy of the key, after which he gave Draco a tight smile and left.

Draco groaned, his head thumping onto the table. What was he doing, offering to help Harry like this? He’d sworn off the wizarding world years ago – so why was he acting so eager to go back now?

+++

“I think the Leaky Caldron is the best idea,” Harry said. He’d been out all day, in the end, and Draco hadn’t asked where he’d gone. They’d ordered Thai, talking about nothing in particular until Harry had changed the conversation.

“Okay,” Draco said cautiously.

“I can write to the Weasleys and…everyone from there and organise to have my things shipped to London.”

“Right,” Draco said. He wondered who else Harry would want to write to. Granger, maybe?

“I’d appreciate your help, if you’re still willing,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said. He cleared his throat. “When did you want to do it?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry asked. He grinned briefly, the amusement not reaching his eyes. “I’d rather get it over with.”

“No problem,” Draco said. “Best if we go for about 10am. Miss the work rush and the lunch rush.”

“Okay,” Harry answered. “Maybe we can see the fence the next day? Once I get my money sorted I can start looking for a place.”

“Sure,” Draco replied. All of a sudden he was exhausted. His confusion was _exhausting_. “Look, I’m going to turn in. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. G’night, Draco. Thanks again.”

“Night, Harry.”

+++

Another long night and Draco was even more on edge than the previous day. Sleep had come, but he had been plagued by dreams, the unsettling kind that never really came clear but left him as exhausted as a sleepless night would.

“Ready to go?” Draco asked. He pushed back the urge to rub at his sandy eyes. Hopefully he would be tired enough to just drop off later tonight.

“Yes,” Harry replied. He looked nervous, Draco thought, shifting his arm. The feel of his wand in his sleeve was a little uncomfortable, a long forgotten memory. His fingers had strapped his holster on without thinking; too many years of habit for his muscle memory to have faded completely, but the leather pressed into his skin.

They walked to the Leaky Caldron, a tense silence developing between them as they came closer. A slight pause, and Harry stepped inside, Draco pausing to Disillusion himself before following. Feeling the magic permeate his skin was a strange sensation. He’d lived without it so long the feel of it was palpable. Draco fought the urge to twist his shoulders in discomfort; he didn’t want to do anything to draw attention, to break the delicate spell that encouraged people to ignore him.

“Tom,” Harry muttered, greeting the bartender. “Can I have a sitting room for the day?”

“Of course, Mister Potter,” Tom said unctuously. “Room Seven, up the stairs, if it pleases you?”

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking the key.

Draco had hung back, waiting to follow Harry up the stairs as unobtrusively as possible. Now, he slipped past Tom, closing the door behind himself. The room was large, and Harry moved immediately to the window overlooking Diagon Alley. His face wasn’t visible, but Draco wondered if he was looking for anyone in particular.

“Never thought I’d come back here,” Harry murmured. “Not so soon.”

Draco didn’t say anything, but he knew how Harry felt. Right now, he couldn’t believe how long it had been since he had stood in a place so steeped in magic the very air sung with its power. How had all those months passed already?

“Better get on with it,” Harry murmured to himself. He sat himself at the table and pulled parchment and quill towards himself.

Quietly, Draco sat down, resigning himself to a day of waiting. Harry wrote steadily, two long letters from what Draco could see, before sending two owls out across Diagon Alley.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice sounded loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes?”

It took a moment for Harry’s eyes to find him, and Draco realised he was still Disillusioned. With a quickly muttered word he ended the spell, revealing himself to Harry. “Sorry.”

“What’s happening with the real estate agent?”

Draco nodded. “He’ll be here whenever we want.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I may have mentioned your name.”

“Right,” Harry said shortly.

“If it helps you get this done faster, I thought it would be worth it,” Draco said, knowing he sounded defensive.  

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said. He stretched. “Might go and see if Tom can get us something to eat.”

Draco winced. “I’m not hungry.”

Harry laughed, though there was little amusement behind it. “One of the few perks. Harry Potter doesn’t get the same as everyone else. Pretty sure they cook something special for The Boy Who Lived. Don’t worry, I’ll order enough for two.”

“Right,” Draco said. “I’ll just send a quick owl off to Arcturus, ask him to come in an hour or so.”

Harry left and Draco sat at the desk, ignoring the warmth of the seat under him. He scribbled off a quick note to Arcturus, sending it with the sleepy looking owl in the corner. The other two were still out with Harry’s letter and from her disgruntled noises it was clear she wasn’t often called upon.

“Sorry,” Draco murmured. “It’s a short trip.”

The owl clicked her beak at him then swooped out the window, gliding across the rooftops. The sight was oddly comforting, something he had been so used to seeing but was absolutely not part of the Muggle world. Not that he would have anyone to send a letter to, back at home.

“Huh,” he muttered. Home wasn’t this world anymore. Interesting. He hadn’t ever really considered it before, but his subconscious obviously had. The idea sat uncomfortably, and as he watched the owl disappear into a tiny white blob, Draco realised he didn’t really belong here anymore. The magic still prickled on his skin, making him even more aware of how unfamiliar this world was now. He sighed. All he had to do was get through this afternoon and he’d be done with it all. He could go back to Muggle London and continue doing whatever it was he had been doing.

Which was nothing.

“Salazar,” Draco muttered.

“Something wrong?” Harry’s voice came from behind him.

“It’s been a while,” Draco answered awkwardly. “Since I’ve seen all this.” He waved one arm at the view.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He stepped over to stand beside Draco, looking out the window.

“You were here what, two days ago?” Draco asked.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d be back so soon,” Harry said. Draco felt him glance over. “It must be strange for you.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I felt the magic, when I came in.”

“The prickling?” Harry asked, one hand rubbing at his arm.

“You felt it too?”

“Not today,” Harry told him. “The first time I came here. With Hagrid.”

“Right,” Draco said. “I forgot you didn’t grow up with it.”

“Felt more normal than not having it,” Harry said. He huffed a half laugh. “Felt like home.”

_Felt like home._

“Yeah,” Draco replied quietly. “It did.”

Ignoring the look Harry gave him, he turned away. “Arcturus won’t be long,” he said. “Have you considered how much you want to sell your place for?”

+++

That night, Draco lay staring at his ceiling. The afternoon had moved quickly enough, and Harry had seemed happy with the probable value on his house. Neither of the owls he’d sent had been answered while they were there, but he’d assured Arcturus someone would be in touch to arrange to collect the money when it sold. Harry had been subdued on their way home, which suited Draco. Leaving the Leaky Cauldron he’d felt the magic slide from his skin and his mind was occupied again with memories of his life before he’d moved.

They’d shared a quiet curry before both retiring early.

Draco had hoped for sleep, his body screaming for it, but instead he’d been staring at the ceiling for hours, his mind tumultuous. Memories moved and shifted, the taste of magic in the air as real on his tongue as the hot cotton under his head. It wasn’t the same, using magic out here in the Muggle world; it came from within him and faded with the conclusion of the spell. Like it didn’t belong unless he made it.

Rolling over, he grunted with frustration, pressing his face into the pillow. It was no good. He knew from his early days his mind wouldn’t rest when it was like this. He was better to get up, do something distracting for the day and collapse that night, mentally and physically exhausted.

Hopefully.

Sighing, he stood up. It wasn’t until he saw the light under his door Draco remembered.

_Harry Potter’s on your sofa._

_Fuck_.

The Muggle expletive usually made him smirk when it came to mind, but tonight it only added to his melancholy mood. His brain was slowly forgetting the wizarding world, like his body. Muggle words came to him easily, now. The magic in the air was uncomfortable instead of comforting. Even carrying his wand was strange.

Carefully, he opened the door, peering around it.

Harry sat on the sofa, knees drawn up. His wand was casting a beam of light at the ceiling, enough to illuminate the room without waking Draco.

“Harry?” Draco asked.

“Hey,” Harry replied.

“Can’t sleep?” Draco ventured.

“No,” Harry said. “Big day.”

“Yeah.”

 “Better than nightmares,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco replied. “Never fun.” He was still standing awkwardly by the doorway, unsure whether to move further.

“Do you…I mean,” Harry stopped. “If you want to talk…”

“Not...” Draco sighed. “Just…being back there reminded me.”

“Of everything,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco said. He cleared his throat. “Did you hear from Weasley and Granger?”

“No,” Harry said. He shifted guiltily. “I might have told the owls to take their time. They probably didn’t arrive until we were gone.”

“Avoiding them?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised.

“Avoiding everyone,” Harry corrected. He sighed. “You did know Ron and Hermione are married, right?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Well, they are. I sent one owl to them.”

“Right,” Draco said, not following.

“I sent the other owl to my partner.”

“Okay,” Draco said, still waiting to understand.

“My partner Harrison,” Harry said. “Yes, I know, ridiculous,” he said, when Draco snorted a laugh. “I assume you’re laughing at his name, anyway.”

“Of course,” Draco replied. “Harry and Harrison?”

“Better than The Boy Who Turned Gay, or whatever rubbish Rita Skeeter came up with on a weekly basis.”

“She always did have a way with words,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Pity it wasn’t The Boy We’re Not Interested In Any More.”

“Was it really that bad?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, it was,” Harry said quietly. He shrugged. “I ended up leaving, didn’t I?”

“And that was the only reason?” Draco couldn’t believe the question had even come out of his mouth. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“It was mainly the reason,” Harry said. “The publicity wasn’t great. I couldn’t do anything normal, my life as an Auror was more about being ‘The Face of the Ministry’ than actual law enforcement, and Harrison…”

“He found it hard?” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Harry said, dropping his eyes. “Some of the homophobic stuff was pretty bad.”

“I know what you mean,” Draco said. “It’s not always better out here either.”

Harry looked up and Draco found himself blushing. “I’m bi,” he said. “But anyone assumes two men together are gay, so same difference.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. “Well, Harrison basically told me he could deal with the homophobic morons, or he could deal with me in the public eye, but not both. We can’t change the people, but we could change my job, being in London. He wanted to move to the country.”

“And do what?” Draco asked. His head was spinning with fatigue and all this new information.

“No idea,” Harry replied. “Not that it mattered, I don’t really need to work. Technically. Not for the money.”

Draco frowned. “So why did you leave? You could have done that, moved to some middle-of-nowhere place, still had magic…”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He looked uncomfortable again.

Draco didn’t want to push. “Coffee?” he asked. “I found the best thing is to push through the day then collapse later.”

“Right,” Harry replied. “Coffee would be excellent.”

Draco smiled, his brain racing, trying to assimilate everything, with one overarching question… _Why is this affecting me so much?_


	3. Chapter 3

In the end they spent most of the day out around London. Draco wanted to avoid any more deep conversations, and it was easier while he was pointing out good cafes and bookshops, plus he knew the exercise would tire them out. They could drop into the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow – or he could go himself – to see if there were replies to the owls, or if Arcturus had left word about Harry’s house. If only his brain would stop churning over everything. Hopefully they could both sleep tonight. Hopefully his brain would stop asking him uncomfortable questions.

Hopefully.

“Well I’m done,” Harry said, stretching out across the sofa. It was the first time they’d stopped properly all day, settling down for an early supper at home. “We must have walked ten miles today.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed. He picked up the rubbish from their burgers. “I’ll just get rid of this and turn in too.”

“Right,” Harry said, stifling a yawn.

Draco used the few moments in the kitchen to try and pull himself together. His brain had been running fast all day, keeping up the light conversation with Harry – they were both working to avoiding anything too meaningful as far as he could tell – but also trying to figure out what he was doing.

That particular answer was still evading him.

“Night, Harry,” Draco said as he passed back through to his bedroom.

“Night,” came the drowsy reply.

Draco closed his bedroom door, pressing his palms against the cool wood for a moment before turning resolutely away. He tried to clear his mind before lying down, not wanting to encourage his brain towards weird dreams. It took all his concentration but eventually, _hopefully_ , he thought he’d be able to drift off. He needed proper sleep, and in the morning, with any luck, there would be an answer for Harry.

***

Two hours later, Draco gave up. No matter how many times he tried, his mind simply wouldn’t settle enough to drift off, despite the headache lurking, despite the heaviness of his eyelids. Muggle sleeping tablets were one option, but he still trusted magic more than pharmacology. Magic was the only way he was going to get any sleep tonight.

Turning the doorhandle, he cracked the door open. Why did he still leave his wand so far away? It wasn’t as though there was anyone to go through his stuff, and it would have made it a whole lot easier to curse himself to sleep if he didn’t have to risk waking Harry.

Bang.

_Pain pain pain._

“Ow!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Bang.

Draco blinked…or tried to. What the hell had just happened?

Before his brain could compute more than _can’t move_ and _oww pain pain_ , a flurry of movement occurred and the spell was lifted. Lights turned on, blinding him, but he was able to shift, wincing as he sat up.

“Merlin, are you okay?”

“Harry?” Draco asked, knowing he sounded daft even as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep, and I think you ran into something-”

“-yeah, stubbed my toe on the end of the sofa, forgot it was enlarged-”

“-and I just reacted, I’m so sorry.”

“Full Body-Bind,” Draco muttered, running one hand over the decent sized egg growing fast on his head. “Nice.”

“Old habit,” Harry said, shoving at his glasses.

“Better than Expelliarmus,” Draco replied with half a grin.

“Yes, thanks for that reminder,” Harry said, his own grin still a bit hesitant as he looked at Draco. “Are you okay?”

“Bit of a bump. I’ll live,” Draco replied.

“I’ve got some dittany here if you want it,” Harry offered. He rummaged through his bag for a bit before finding the small glass bottle.

“Thanks,” Draco replied, accepting it, ignoring the brush of fingers against his own. “I’ve got some Muggle stuff around here somewhere but it’s nowhere near as good.” It was odd describing things as ‘Muggle’; he was so used to it that it was just medicine, now. He dabbed the essence on his head, feeling the wound immediately respond.

“No problem,” Harry murmured, accepting the bottle back from Draco.

“Sorry I woke you,” Draco said, the awkwardness growing now that they were both standing there in pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He crossed his arms across his chest, a self-conscious move that also hid his left forearm. _The Mark’s faded, but still…_

Flicking a glance down, Draco could see how fit Harry looked; his eyes couldn’t help clocking the scars across his torso and arms, wondering what happened to injure him so badly that even magic couldn’t erase the evidence.

“I don’t let the Healers fix the scars,” Harry said suddenly.

“What?” Draco said, startled.

“I’ve got a lot of scars,” Harry said, his voice and eyes calm. "Most Aurors get their scars removed if they can."

Draco’s heart was thumping out of his chest now. Should he ask why? Was Harry offering him an opportunity to ask? Or was he making polite conversation? “Right,” Draco replied.

“They remind me to be more careful,” Harry said, looking down at himself. “Some of them are from…before I was an Auror,” he traced a deep one on his forearm, then fingers drifted to a round white mark at his throat, “but mostly they’re from work.”

“Right,” Draco said again. _What the hell am I meant to say to that?_

“Some of them…people died. I didn’t want to erase that,” Harry said.

“Christ, were you an Unspeakable?” Draco blurted. Few Aurors dealt with cases that turned fatal; even the most elite rarely saw anything so dangerous it couldn’t be fixed.

“For a while,” Harry said, shrugging. “Until they realised they couldn’t use me as a poster boy if nobody was allowed to know what I was doing.”

“Wow,” Draco said. He frowned. “Are you even allowed to tell me that?”

“Well, given I walked out of the Ministry, and I haven’t told you anything actually secret, I think we’ll be safe,” Harry said, grinning.

“I guess you can always Full Body-Bind anyone that breaks in,” Draco retorted.

“Oi,” Harry said with another grin.

Somewhere between _We’re both_ shirtless and this, things had become less tense. The atmosphere was far more relaxed, somehow. Draco wondered how that had happened. _And what does it mean?_

“I always volunteered for the dangerous stuff,” Harry said, shrugging. “Well, other people said it was dangerous, and it probably was, but compared to…other things I’d done, it didn’t feel that bad.”

“What did Harrison say?” Draco asked. He felt his face heat as soon as the words were out. “Christ, sorry. None of my business.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. “I didn’t meet him until I’d been transferred across to Public Relations. He never understood why I kept the scars. I don’t think we’d have stayed together while I was an Unspeakable.”

“Do you think you’ll hear from him?” Draco asked. _Why do you care?_

“Maybe,” Harry said, tilting his head. “He won’t be happy.”

“Well, you did just leave him,” Draco pointed out. A little recklessly, he added, “and you’re staying with another man. So…” he shrugged, hoping the slight joke came across that way.

Harry looked up, startled, then his mouth pulled up at the corners. “And we’re sitting on my bed, half dressed in the middle of the night.”

_When did we sit on his bed?_

“Hardly an innocent scenario,” Draco agreed. “Not when you phrase it like that.” _Where is this conversation going?_

“I think he knew I didn’t want to leave London,” Harry said quietly. “It wasn’t easy, but…” he shrugged.

“But you did leave London,” Draco pointed out. He had no idea where the courage to say it came from. “His London, at least.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. He looked at his hands for a long time, tracing a curved scar on one thumb with the opposite forefinger. “He didn’t understand…it would have followed me. The fame. It wouldn’t have mattered where we went, The Boy Who Whatever was always there.”

“But that’s not you, is it?”

Harry blinked in surprise. “No,” he said slowly. “He’s whatever Rita Skeeter made up. He’s nothing like me, but he’s always there, and when people look at me, talk to me…that’s who they see. The famous one, not the schoolkid dragged into something bigger than he was.”

“But the schoolkid, he’s a part of you,” Draco said, the words coming as naturally as breathing. _How did I know that?_

Harry had frozen, and now he looked up at Draco. “Yes,” he agreed carefully with Draco. “And the real stuff that happened, it made me who I am.” He huffed a laugh. “Merlin, that sounds stupid.”

“No it doesn’t,” Draco replied. “I know exactly what you mean.”

_Two conversations in as many days about this stuff? What the hell, Malfoy?_

“It was the same. For me. I don’t want to be reminded of it all the time, but that…time...it was important. To me. To how I think about things. How I react and make decisions.” The words felt awkward, and it wasn’t quite explaining what he meant, but from the expression of relief on Harry’s face, Draco had struck a chord of some kind.

“Yes,” Harry agreed. He looked at his hands again, tracing the same scar, and Draco resisted the urge to do the same – running his fingertip across the back of Harry’s hand.

“Harrison never wanted to talk about it,” Harry said quietly. “Not that I always wanted to, but I mean…when I did, when I had a nightmare, or something at work reminded me, or anything like that, he just wanted to pretend it never happened.”

“Ouch,” Draco murmured. “Where was he during…all that?”

“He grew up in New Zealand,” Harry said. “The whole War – both of them, really – was a story to him. Like a fairytale. His parents never really let him see what was happening, they thought he was too young.”

“Hang on, how old is he?” Draco asked.

“A year younger than us,” Harry said, and his use of ‘us’ made Draco’s stomach flip over.

“Too young,” Draco said, the laugh that followed more bitter than the thought it would be. “We were there, in it.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Needless to say, his parents and I never actually met.”

“Never?” Draco asked.

“They’re in New Zealand,” Harry said. “Conveniently enough.”

“Right,” Draco replied. He bit his tongue to stop himself saying what he thought of a guy like that.

“He’s a nice guy,” Harry said quietly.

Draco wasn’t going to dispute Harry’s assessment of the man he’d just left. Not out loud, at least.

“But he doesn’t get it, does he?” Draco asked.

“No,” Harry whispered.

Draco sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, this conversation is a total downer,” Harry replied. “I was going to be laughing at you falling over, and here I am moaning about my-”

“Sorry,” Draco said. “You can Stun me if it’ll make you feel better.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Harry’s face. “Only if you promise not to cast a snake at me.”

“At a Parseltongue?” Draco said, eyebrows raised. He wondered why Harry kept bringing up things that happened at school. “No chance.”

“I’m not sure if I still am,” Harry said. He frowned, obviously thinking.

“What?” Draco said. “What do you mean?”

“Just something Dumbledore said,” Harry replied. “I haven’t really seen a snake since then. Haven’t tried to do it. Haven’t needed to.”

“Okay,” Draco said. He had no idea what Harry was on about. “Look, I’m going to grab my wand, try to get some more sleep.”

“More sleep?” Harry said, eyebrow raised.

“Okay, some sleep,” Draco admitted, ignoring the slight thrill that Harry saw through his lie.

“We should contact the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow about those owls,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed.

“I wish there was an easier way,” Harry said. “Some way to do it from here.”

Draco knew he meant Muggle London.

“You don’t have to come,” Draco said. “I can go, if you want to stay here.”

“Thanks,” Harry said after a pause. “But I’ll come.”

“Okay,” Draco replied from his bedroom door. “See you in the morning, then.”

+++

Surprisingly, Draco slept well once he returned to bed. He’d forgotten to pick up his wand, in the end, but something about his conversation with Harry settled the restless part of his brain. He woke suddenly, the light disconcerting as he blinked at the window. Surely it wasn’t late enough for the sun to be so high?

As it turned out he’d slept until mid-morning, a solid eight hours. It wasn’t enough to combat the poor sleep of the previous nights but it was enough to make him feel far more human. A quick shower and shave and he was ready to face the world. Or Harry, at least.

“Morning,” Harry said when Draco stuck his head into the kitchen. “Sleep alright?”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Better than I expected.” He hovered, wondering if he should make breakfast. He wasn't that hungry, but if Harry wanted to eat.

“Me too,” Harry said. “D’you want some breakfast first or should we head over?”

“Eager?” Draco said, grabbing an apple.

“Curious,” Harry amended, shooting him a pointed look.

The nerves were obvious in his expression, but Draco didn’t say anything. He supposed if he had a boyfriend and two best friends he’d be just as nervous awaiting their reply owls. Not that he really knew what that was like, but from the anxious jittering of Harry’s hands, it wasn’t all that fun.

“Let’s go,” Draco said.

The walk over was brisk as he kept pace with an impatient Harry. Draco Disillusioned himself on the move – never a great idea, but he couldn’t see Harry slowing down – and followed Harry into the dim light of the bar.

“Any owls for me, Tom?” Harry asked.

“Two, Mister Potter. Would you care to read them here?”

“No,” Harry said shortly. “I’ll take them with me. Any messages?”

“Not today,” Tom replied, handing over two envelopes – one far thicker than the other.

“Right,” Harry said. He tucked the envelopes inside his jacket. “Thanks, Tom.”

They were back outside again in two minutes.

“Home?” Draco asked. “Or there’s a quiet park around the corner. I can leave you to read them if you want.”

“Park sounds good,” Harry said. He shot a quick glance at Draco. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to…company would be alright. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Draco replied. He led the way until they were sitting on a secluded bench.

Harry took out his post and opened the lesser of the two envelopes. Draco could just about see his fingers trembling as he broke the seal and scanned the handwriting.

“Right,” he said flatly.

Draco raised his eyebrows. That must have been one short letter, he thought, but said nothing. Just because Harry wanted him here didn’t mean he had any right to ask about the contents.

“Read this,” Harry said, throwing it to Draco.

“Are you sure?” Draco said, catching the parchment.

“Yes,” Harry replied tersely.

The note was short, to the point, and signed _Harrison._

_I thought you didn’t want to leave London._

_Don’t bother keeping in touch._

“Wow,” Draco said. “So I’m guessing it’s over.”

“Seems to be,” Harry said.

“What did you tell him?” Draco asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The truth,” Harry said. He winced. “I thought he knew most of it, but maybe not.”

“Well,” Draco said, “At least you know where you stand, now.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the sounds of London dulled by the greenery around them.

“Okay,” Harry murmured, taking the remaining envelope and tugging it open. There were two pieces of parchment inside – one again much more substantial than the other.

“Ron,” Harry said, holding up the smaller, “and Hermione.” He smiled a little. “She never could write a short letter.”

Harry took Hermione’s letter and began reading.

Has his brow always furrowed like that when he concentrated? Draco had no idea, but the last thing he wanted was to be caught staring. Placing Harrison’s letter on the bench he stood up, pacing slowly across the park, giving both of them some space. He was very aware of himself, making a point of not staring at Harry, thinking about the difficult spells he’d been trying to master. His effort had been half-arsed, true, but concentrating on that helped make sure he wasn’t crowding Harry. Hopefully.

When Draco reached the far side of the park for the umpteenth time he turned, allowing his eyes to flick over to Harry. _Just checking what he’s doing. Totally the normal thing to do._

Harry wasn’t reading. Hermione’s letter was still in his hand, the parchment resting in relaxed fingers, but his eyes were distant. Draco watched him for a moment before approaching. “Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, shaking his head before glancing up. “A lot to take in.”

“You okay?” Draco asked. Why did he feel like he was always walking so close to the line?

“She’s…unhappy.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth.”

“Really?” Draco heard himself ask.

“Yeah,” Harry said without heat. “From what she’s written, I don’t think they understand.”

“Did you…are you planning on keeping in contact?”

“Eventually,” Harry said. “But not yet. I just need some space. From all of it for a while.”

“Right,” Draco replied. He understood the need for space, but surely Harry’s friendship with Weasley and – with _the Weasleys_ , assuming Granger changed her name – surely that was something he’d want to keep up? They were inseparable, weren’t they?

“Not forever,” Harry said. “I just…they’ll want me to come back. Sometimes.” He stopped, frowning.

“Don’t you want to see them?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said defensively. “But I know them, and they’ll want to convince me to stay there.” He frowned again. “I need to figure it out on my own.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” Draco asked.

“Are you?”

The question came back to him so fast he didn’t have time to think about it. “Yes.”

Harry looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“But I have nothing to go back to. You have friends, and a job…” Draco trailed off.

“And I can’t walk down the street, or read a newspaper, or do my job without being The Boy Who…whatever,” Harry said.

“I’m not sure I understand either,” Draco said quietly. “You’re walking away from a lot of good as well as the rest of it.”

“The good is good,” Harry said, “but the rest is…more. Bigger. It doesn’t balance.”

“And what does Weasley say?” Draco said. “I mean…Ron.” _Weird to call him that._

“Don’t know yet. Probably the same as Hermione but shorter,” Harry said. He opened Ron’s letter and scanned it.

Draco could see it was far shorter – and messier – than Hermione’s. Harry read quickly, then folded it, leaning back on the bench.

“Pretty much the same,” Harry said. “He doesn’t get it, is it really that bad, maybe if I get out of London for a while, let things calm down, blah blah blah.”

“You don’t tell them about it all, do you?” Draco said.

“What?” Harry said.

“How bad it is,” Draco said matter-of-factly. "How constant."

Harry looked at him speculatively, and Draco held his gaze. _Don’t react,_ he thought to himself. _Just be there._ Draco watched with fascination as the speculation drained away to be replaced by a remarkable vulnerability.

“No,” Harry whispered. “They know a lot, but not everything.”

_Maybe they’re not as close…no, that’s not it._

“Not the small stuff,” Draco guessed.

“Y…yes,” Harry agreed.

“And that’s the hardest thing. The everyday little things that aren’t even worth saying,” Draco said.

“How on Earth do you know that?”

Draco shrugged, pushing the old pain away. “That’s what living with my father was like,” he said simply. “And after, I couldn’t walk down the street for the small stuff. It wears you down.”

“It does,” Harry said.

They sat quietly for a long while. Finally, Draco asked, “Are you going to write back?”

“Not today,” Harry said. “They want to meet.”

“Do you think they’ll try to convince you to come back?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He frowned. “I need to set myself up out here. In the Muggle world. I need to find something to do.”

Draco nodded. “Something other than pouring drinks?”

“Preferably,” Harry said.

“Well, maybe something will come to you,” Draco said.

“Actually, something might already have,” Harry said, looking over to Draco.

“Really?” Draco said.

“Yes. And I think I’ll need your help,” Harry said.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Harry started talking, the words poured out of him. Draco watched, entranced to see the enthusiasm grow as Harry expanded on his plan. He sat up taller, leaning forward, his eyes bright as he outlined his thoughts. _It’s more than just a plan_ , Draco thought. _Harry’s actually excited about this._

“Okay,” Draco said finally. His head was spinning with all Harry’s ideas.

“So do you think it’s possible?”

Draco looked at him, shifting to turn more fully towards Harry. “You realise you’ll have to go back to set this up?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, a little defensively. “Not for long, though. I'd want to stay on this side of things.”

“But what if…I mean, you sounded pretty against it, right?” Draco was a bit confused at this – hadn’t Harry been adamant he wanted to avoid the wizarding world?

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Harry said. “But starting this up will need some contact, and it’s better than pouring drinks.” He shrugged. “And the fame thing might actually work for me for once.”

“You’ll have to use it for it to work for you,” Draco told him, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” Harry said, “if I talk to the right people I won’t have to spend too much time there. And it’s not like I’ll be making public announcements or anything.”

Draco nodded, thinking. Despite his earlier determination to avoid all things magic, Harry seemed quite resigned to the idea of returning, even for a short time. He was right, too; using his fame would certainly mean a much smoother process.

And he did have to do something with his life.

_Can’t bum around doing nothing all day. Like me._

“So do you think you’d want to help?” Harry asked.

“Do you mean…what do you mean, exactly?” Draco asked carefully. _Is he asking me to…_

“Well, I guess it depends. I mean, I could do with some help out here, setting up the Muggle end of things. Eventually I’ll probably need a partner,” Draco’s heart fluttered at the word and he hoped to hell it didn’t show on his face, “someone to help keep track of things.”

“And you’d want me?” Draco asked. The phrasing was awkward and he hoped the double meaning escaped Harry.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll need to find someone who knows both worlds, who’s happy to go back and forward. Who can use magic, too, so that rules out squibs.”

Draco nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

_But you’d want…me?_

Before Draco realised it his mouth opened and he blurted out the first thing he thought of. “My father would hate this,” he said. “Muggles and wizards, I mean.”

Harry blinked at him. “Surely that’s not a bad thing?”

“It’s my life,” Draco said, the words sounding reckless even as Harry grinned at him. “And he’s not here.”

“True,” Harry said.

Draco swallowed. Was that approval? Or disapproval? Or neither?

_Stop over-thinking it._

“Okay then, who’re you going to see first?”

“Shacklebolt,” Harry replied. “If he’s behind me, the rest will work fine.”

“And you can drop his name when you’re setting up the rest of it,” Draco pointed out, grinning.

“Of course,” Harry replied. “I hate politics, but I have learned how to use it a bit.”

“Right, so pretend I’m him, tell me what you’re going to say,” Draco said. He stood up, hands behind his back, and raised one eyebrow in an impression of his father’s sternest expression.

“I’ll tell him we want to set up a liaison between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. The Ministry’s still all about Muggle relations and this will make it easier for Muggle-borns to keep in touch with both worlds. And their Muggle families too.”

Draco nodded. “What do you mean, a liaison?”

Harry frowned, finding the words. “A shop, basically. Or two, one in the wizarding world and one in the Muggle world. We’d exchange money, swap owls for Royal Mail, have a Floo connection maybe. Basically make it easier for anyone that’s in both worlds to move back and forward.”

“Okay, so assuming you get approval, what will you need?”

Harry looked up, reciting what was obviously a list in his head. “A licence for a Floo connection, authorisation for owls, a fixed conversion rate between pounds and galleons, authorisation to sell magic magazines and newspapers on the Muggle side. We’ll have a shop in Muggle London and one maybe in Diagon Alley. Hopefully he’ll let us connect our fireplace to the general Floo network, but we’ll agree to having a single connection if that’s what he’ll allow.”

“The apparition point,” Draco reminded him.

“Oh yeah, an apparition point,” Harry added. “To make it easier for wizards from outside London to come to Diagon Alley.”

“And what services do we offer?” Draco prompted him.

“Muggles can bring letters and packages for us to send by owl, and we can post anything that arrives by owl,” Harry said. “We can send quicker messages too, like converting phone calls and sending messages through the Floo on behalf of Muggles. Especially if Shacklebolt lets us connect our fireplace to the whole network.”

Draco’s heart swooped at the casual _us_.

_Stop it, Draco._

“Okay,” Draco said. “Sounds good. And you really think Shacklebolt will okay it all?”

“I think he’ll do it,” Harry said. “And if you’re in…” he looked over at Draco.

“I am,” Draco said. He could feel his face growing red, but the look of relief on Harry’s face tempered his self-consciousness at how quickly he’d answered.

_He actually wants me on board with this._

“We’ll both be able to stay here,” Harry finished his sentence.

“But it also means you can go back sometimes if you want,” Draco pointed out.

“Right,” Harry said. “We’ll need to have someone on the other side. Maybe a shopfront in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.”

Harry’s continued use of _us_ – now backed up by Draco’s agreement to work with him – emboldened Draco. “Both,” he said, “when we become the biggest thing in London.”

The smile Harry gave him made the risk worthwhile. Draco couldn’t look away, feeling the smile spread from Harry’s face across his own.

“Let’s see what Shacklebolt says first,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes and reaching down to collect his letters.

 _Fuck,_ Draco thought to himself, _no more denying it. I’ve got it bad._

“So, when are you going to meet with him?” Draco asked.

“Sooner the better,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking about it since I arrived here and realised I had no idea how to get my galleons changed into pounds.”

“Right,” Draco said. “Okay, then.”

“Might send an owl today,” Harry said. “He might not be available for a while.”

Draco nodded. “Did you tell anyone when you left?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Harry said.

“Well, he was your boss, kind of,” Draco said. “And you said you walked out and nobody knew you were here.”

Harry stared at him. “Well I cleaned out my vault and by now Hermione and Ron will have told-”

“You’ve been here for days!” Draco exclaimed. “Don’t tell me nobody noticed before your owls arrived.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I told you, I cleaned out my vault.”

Draco pinned him with a look he hoped was disbelieving. “And disappeared without a word. To Muggle London.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. From the look on his face, he was starting to see Draco’s point. “Maybe I should have told someone.”

“I’m sure they know by now,” Draco said. “If anyone was looking for you they would have asked Weasl- Ron and Hermione, right? Or Harrison?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “And Hermione would definitely have told them when she heard from me.”

“Do you think she would have said where you are?” Draco asked.

“Well we haven’t seen anyone,” Harry said. He frowned. “Actually I didn’t give anyone your address, I just told them to send their owls to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“At least they know you’re alright,” Draco pointed out.

“I just…I didn’t want anyone to try and change my mind,” Harry said.

“Harrison?”

“Anyone,” Harry replied. “The Weasleys – any of them – Harrison, and Merlin forbid Rita Skeeter had found out.”

Something inside Draco shifted uncomfortably as Harry spoke. _So many people who wanted him to stay._ A little voice – the ghost of his father, long silent but as dryly derisive as always – sounded in his mind.

_Nobody cared that **you** left._

Draco felt the muscles in his face shift – was he frowning? How would he even know if anyone cared that he’d left? Nobody spoke to him the few times he’d gone back, except Arcturus and Tom. He’d had no family, no friends to speak of; few people had contacted him during that last year before he’d walked away.

And to his knowledge, not a soul had tried to find him since.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice sounded far away.

“Yeah,” he replied absently, still trying to figure out what was going on in his brain. Something that felt like sadness was spreading through him, and he couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t jealous of Potter, was he?

_Since when have you called him Potter again?_

It wasn’t jealousy – he was quite familiar enough with that sensation. The soft, heavy sensation swirling through him now lacked the sharp bitterness he associated with _why not me?_ It wasn’t abating, either; instead it welled quietly, filling him up until he could hardly breathe. He hadn’t felt like this since…since…

Since he’d left his mother, that last time at Azkaban. The trip home had been difficult – his concentration scattered, he’d struggled to Apparate close to home and had ended up walking across the dark fields rather than risk ending up Splinched.

At least the darkness had hidden his tears. Hot regret, pouring down his cheeks. The same deep sadness, pouring out of him then as he’d mourned missed opportunities of the past and the future. The life they hadn’t had.

It was the same now, the similarities too glaring for him to ignore. Harry’s concerns – too many people worried about him, too much concern for his welfare – were as foreign to Draco as the Muggle world had been. His own exit had been just as swift, but Draco’s only worry had been avoiding getting mugged on the way out. Avoiding people who hated him instead of people who loved him.

He wasn’t envying Harry’s circle of loving, concerned friends. He was mourning the absence of it from his own life.

_Sadness. Definitely sadness._

“Draco?”

The hand on his arm brought him out of his head far more effectively than Harry’s voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” Draco said, focussing again on Harry. He looked puzzled. “Just thinking. About old stuff.”

“Anything you want to…” Harry trailed off.

“Not right now,” Draco managed. When was the last time someone had looked at him with concern like that? The answer made his throat tighten.

“Lunch?”

Draco nodded, grateful he didn’t have to say anything. They’d been sitting in the park for hours now; the shadows were short as the sun passed through its zenith.

They were both quiet as they ate, for which Draco was supremely grateful. His own head was whirling with new ideas. The recognition of his attraction to Harry and all the implications of that, business points of interest, the way Harry’s situation had made him reflect on his own life, Harry’s situation in its own right. He had no idea what Harry was thinking about, or if he was simply being considerate of Draco’s own introspective mood.

When they’d finally finished and the rest of the afternoon stretched before them, Draco wanted nothing more than to try and wrangle some sort of order to his brain.

“I’m just going to…I’ll meet you back at the flat, okay?” Draco said. “Just need to walk for a bit.”

“Sure,” Harry replied. He stuffed his letters inside his jacket. “Take your time.”

“Right,” Draco said. It was strange walking off and leaving Harry standing there, but he needed some solitude before he could figure himself out.


	5. Chapter 5

Darkness was falling earlier and earlier, and it took Draco by surprise. He’d walked all afternoon, only realising how late it was when the soft glow of street lights began to appear. The streets were almost deserted, and the sound of his measured footsteps was suddenly loud in his ears. His fingers, tingling with cold, felt clumsy as he shoved them in his pockets. The warmth seeped in slowly, and he forced his brain to pay attention to the street signs and think about how to get home.

Where Harry was waiting for him.

Probably.

Draco’s brain had stopped whirling a while ago, but things were still not as clear as he’d hoped. Thinking about Harry – about the life Harry had chosen to walk away from – had muddied the way Draco looked at the life he’d carefully crafted for himself out here in the Muggle world. Not that he’d spent much time in retrospect lately; it had been tucked away more effectively than he realised, until Harry and his life had crashed into his existence again, forcing him to think about what he was doing with his life – and what was missing.

Harry Potter, for Christ’s sake. Of all the wizards in the whole fucking world.

In the solitude of quiet twilight, Draco was honest with himself. He had to be, if he was seriously considering entering into a business with Harry. To seeing him, accepting that their past was in the past. Working together.

And if that was going to work, Draco would have to be able to stop the image of Harry’s bare torso interrupting his thoughts. He’d need to be able to ignore the scent of Harry’s cologne as they sat beside each other and talked, and banish the idea of anything more than a business relationship developing.

Having said that, Draco thought as he started climbing the stairs to his flat, there was already an odd intimacy to the way they interacted. Perhaps friendship was on the table, he amended. Nothing more, though. Definitely nothing more.

“Harry?” Draco called. He dropped his keys on the table, but stopped abruptly in the doorway of the living room. Harry was asleep on the sofa, still dressed, the letters from the Weasleys resting loose in his hand. His breath was deep and even; he didn’t even stir as Draco crossed quietly to his bedroom door. It was still early, but the lack of sleep lately would make an early night prudent – especially if he helped it along with a quick bit of magic. Funny how that solution came so easily to his mind now after so long pretending it didn’t exist.

Draco slipped into his bedroom, not bothering to brush his teeth before falling into bed, the cool cotton of his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt making him shiver in the moments before his body heat warmed them.

+++

“Mum!”

The cry was loud, and for a heart stopping moment Draco wondered if it was his own cry that had woken him. His heart was beating fast, and he listened as best he could over the thundering pulse in his ears.

When no further sound came, Draco slumped forward. His dream had been vivid, Azkaban so real he could smell the salt air and despair as clearly as the day he’d last visited. His mother’s hand had ben shaking, her voice full of regret, and nothing could stop her receding, moving away from Draco no matter how hard he stretched his arm for her. His mind could be cruel, he thought, not for the first time.

Deciding he needed water, Draco padded across his bedroom, wiping a stray tear from his eye. It had been months since he’d dreamed about her. It was probably all the stuff with Harry yesterday, breaking open the carefully constructed box into which he’d locked those memories.

Painfully aware of Harry sleeping on the sofa – thankfully – Draco groped for the water glass in the bathroom, wincing at cold water on his teeth. Urgh, he definitely needed to brush his teeth. Berating Past Draco for his laziness, he brushed, running his tongue over the smooth surfaces of his mouth with relief. Much better.

“Mum!”

The cry was the same as before, and this time it was definitely not Draco – he’d spat water into the mirror in alarm at the sound. A quick wipe across his mouth with the hand towel and he stepped out of the bathroom, picking up his wand without thinking.

“Harry?”

A whimper from the sofa.

“Lumos,” Draco muttered, his wand illuminating enough of the room for him to see Harry still lying down. He was tossing his head, obviously distressed, and Draco finally realised what the cry meant.

He wasn’t the only one having nightmares tonight.

What were you meant to do for someone having nightmares? Were you supposed to let them sleep? Or was that sleepwalking? Hesitantly, he stepped closer, watching with a frown as Harry continued to move restlessly.

When Harry bolted upright, another cry of, “Mum!” renting the silence, Draco jumped, the meagre light making Harry’s eyes appear wide and black.

“Harry?” Draco said again.

Harry was blinking now, and his shaking was exaggerated by the fop of dark hair dancing over his forehead. He looked confused, frightened; Draco knew from his own experience of nightmares that disorientation was bad enough even when you woke up somewhere familiar. Harry’d only been here a few nights, and it would take him a while to figure out where he was. Draco moved slowly over to the kitchen, switching on the light and pulling the door almost closed. It was muted enough to help Harry see without blinding him.

Finally, Harry turned to Draco, blinking again while his brain worked.

“Draco,” Harry said finally, and Draco nodded, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” Draco asked, wincing at the ridiculous question.

“I woke you up,” Harry said, the words flat. “Sorry.”

“’s fine,” Draco told him. “I was awake anyway.” At Harry’s disbelieving look, he added, “Okay, you woke me from my own bad dream, okay?”

“Right,” Harry muttered. He was still shaking, Draco could see.

“You want some water or…something?” Draco asked. He had no idea what he was meant to do. His instinct was telling him to offer a hug or something – it was what he often craved after a bad dream, something warm and solid to help ground him in the here and now – but it seemed wildly inappropriate given his state of undress, and the fact that he was more or less sitting on the end of Harry’s bed.

“I’ll get it,” Harry said. He sat up slowly, wincing a little. “Must have been more tired than I thought.” He moved slowly, kicking off his shoes and picking up pyjamas before disappearing into the bathroom.

Draco nodded at him, not sure if he should go back to bed or wait. In the end his indecision made the call for him, and he waited awkwardly, the sound of water in the bathroom loud in the quiet of the night.

When Harry returned he was wearing the same pyjama bottoms with a white t-shirt, his clothes bundled messily under one arm. Draco was simultaneously disappointed and relieved. He wondered if Harry had deliberately worn more clothes because he knew Draco was still there. Was he self-conscious? Or was it a subtle ‘I’m not interested’, a way of making sure Draco couldn’t ogle him?

Was Draco’s interest in Harry so obvious?

“Better?” Draco asked, more for something to say than anything else.

Harry nodded, and Draco stood, Transfiguring the sofa into Harry’s bed. He stood at the end of it, feeling awkward as a Muggleborn on a broomstick ( _Where had that analogy come from?_ ), watching Harry drop his clothes and pull back the bedsheets.

“Well, g’night,” Draco said at the exact moment Harry spoke.

“D’you think…” Harry started, then stopped when he heard Draco had spoken. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered when Draco turned back.

“What?” Draco asked. His heart was beating faster as he watched Harry think.

“D’you want to, I mean could you stay for a bit?” Harry asked, his words running together as he spoke.

Draco was surprise at how tentative Harry sounded.

“Yeah, of course,” Draco replied. He watched Harry settle himself under the bedclothes, sitting up against the head of the bed, so Draco sat at the other end, his bare feet crossed at Harry’s hip level.

“So you reckon this business thing’s going to work?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “Probably,” he said. “I mean, we can run it at a loss if we have to. Not like we really need to make a living from it.”

“True,” Harry replied. “I was thinking today, maybe when we get to hiring staff-”

“-Oh, now who’s confident?” Draco butted in. Harry’s elbow bumped his foot in protest, and they grinned at each other.

Something fizzed in Draco’s stomach.

“-we could look at hiring outside the usual kind of people,” Harry finished.

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“There are lots of people – creatures – that want to work but aren’t really given a chance,” Harry said. “Werewolves, free house elves, squibs, half-humans…maybe we could give some of them a chance.”

Draco bit back his first instinct, the sneer coming so close to breaking free it was almost painful. He studied Harry, seeing the determination behind his carefully blank expression.

“I think that could work,” he said finally. “I, er, don’t have a lot of experience with…non-humans. I mean, we had house elves, but…” he trailed off, frustrated at himself, at the past behaviour that now seemed so far away.

“They’re just like people,” Harry said. “I mean, they’re not, but all people aren’t the same, either. Some are nicer than others, but you have to talk to them to figure out which ones are which. It might take a bit before we find the right ones, but that would be the same with humans, wouldn’t it?”

There was a pleading note, and Draco felt a frown pull at his brow as he tried to identify what was going on in his mind. For some reason he wanted to agree with Harry. He was willing to be uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t been for a long time, to talk to creatures he’d treated badly in the past if it made Harry happy.

Christ, Merlin and all the other deities, he had it bad.

“This is important to you,” Draco found himself saying.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

There was a silence, less awkward than Draco thought it might have been. He had the feeling Harry was working on something to say, so he held back, wondering what it might be.

“I’ve seen how difficult it can be,” Harry said. “For people who are different. Any creatures. My…a friend of mine was a werewolf.”

“Lupin,” Draco murmured. He hadn’t thought about the Professor in a long time.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “One of Ron’s brother’s was bitten too, and even though he doesn’t change, it’s affected him.” He took a deep breath. “And there was Dobby.”

Draco pulled in a sharp breath. “You liked him,” he said, wincing at the insufficiency of the words.

“I did,” Harry said. “And I saw how hard it was for him…for both of them to get work. I promised myself that if I was ever in a position to change that, I would.”

Draco sat for a moment, thinking this through. “That’s one of the reasons you left the Ministry,” he said, not sure where the moment of clarity had come from, but certain he was right.

“If I was going to be the face of the Ministry, I wanted to be spreading a message of acceptance,” Harry said. “Not drivel about wand safety.”

Draco nodded. This conversation, borne of their mutual awkwardness about the position they’d found themselves in, had taken an unexpectedly personal turn. He felt like this was an opportunity to be more honest with Harry, though the very idea made him baulk.

“I don’t know how good I’ll be at it,” Draco said, the word awkward out of his mouth. “Dealing with house elves. Or werewolves or anyone.” He laughed, an awkward huff to give himself a second to think. “But I can try.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I know it might not be for ages, but I figured better to get the idea out there.”

“Sure,” Draco said.

The conversation trailed off, and Draco wondered what Harry was thinking about. They had both relaxed, slumping a little, and Draco was now very aware that his feet had rolled inwards, toes resting against Harry’s hip.

_Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it…_

“I haven’t dreamed about her in a long time,” Harry said suddenly.

Draco sat quietly, the change of direction taking his distracted mind a moment to process.

“Did…do you have any memories of her?” Draco asked.

“Not really. Not from then,” Harry said. “I’ve seen her a few times, but it’s not the same.”

“Seen her?” Draco asked in surprise.

“Dumbledore had this Mirror, it showed you what you wanted,” Harry explained.

Draco’s eyes widened. “The Mirror of Erised?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Jesus, Harry,” Draco muttered, unexpected tears prickling at the back of his eyes. The hours he’d spent looking for that after his mother had died, not even knowing if it was real or a myth, spending a fortune following rumours, wanting desperately to see her one last time.

“What?” Harry said. He frowned. “Is it famous or something?”

“Something,” Draco muttered. “Doesn’t matter.” He burned to ask Harry if he knew where it was, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was in his past. “What did she look like?”

Harry shrugged. “Like her photos. Young. Happy, I guess.”

Draco nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The envy he’d felt the previous day, at the riches of Harry’s life on which he'd turned his back, reared its head again. Even now, he had something Draco wanted. Something Draco’d forgotten he wanted but now he desired desperately. For the life of him he couldn’t think of what to say – or even if it would come out right, or at all.

Company.

Someone to talk to, to hug and mean it.

Skin to press against, a body to curl into and whisper secrets.

The shudder was part cold, part something else. A yearning for something he still wasn’t quite prepared to admit to himself, even after the events of the day.

“Cold?” Harry asked.

“A bit,” Draco replied evasively.

Harry paused for a beat before pulling back the bedsheets beside him, mutely offering the space to Draco.

With a pounding heart and a gaze most definitely turned away from Harry, Draco crawled up the bed, sliding underneath, refusing to register the slight warmth to his right, a contrast to the coolness of the sheets. He was concentrating on keeping his face neutral, so it wasn’t until a stream of warm air blew over his legs he started.

“Sorry,” Harry said, redirecting the spell further down the blankets. “Sheets are cold.”

“Thanks,” Draco murmured. He was very aware of Harry next to him, and the subtext of them sharing a bed was boldly obvious to him. He wondered what Harry was thinking about it – or if it had crossed his mind at all.


	6. Chapter 6

They lay side by side in the dark, Draco’s mind awash with thoughts. Should he be talking? Would that be weirder than lying still and silent like this? The flow of warm air continued for a moment, then he felt it slow and stop, Harry’s arm withdrawing presumably to lay his wand on the floor.

_If I ask him now, at least he won’t be able to see my face._

“That mirror,” Draco said quietly, hoping he wasn’t too loud. Hoping Harry would follow his lead. Would understand how important this was.

“Yeah?” Harry said, when Draco paused.

“You don’t know where it is, do you?” Draco asked.

“No,” Harry said. “I guess Dumbledore must have put it somewhere.”

“Oh.” Draco barely managed a sound through his tightening throat.

The silence again. This time Draco could almost feel Harry’s curiosity. Would he speak first? Draco wouldn’t know how to say it, even here, in the dark and strangely comforting intimacy of sharing a bed.

“I couldn’t talk to her,” Harry said quietly. “And she couldn’t talk to me. I could just…see her.”

_He understands what I’m asking._

Draco nodded, regret welling up in him, fresh and sharp. The tears were hot, sliding down the sides of his face. One dripped uncomfortably into his ear, but he dared not move or make a sound. He hoped he was being quiet enough.

“You miss her a lot, don’t you?” Harry asked, and it was enough to break Draco’s tenuous resolve.

“Yeah,” he whispered brokenly, and the dam burst. The sobs shook his body, and there was no hiding his grief; the mounting feeling of loss and regret poured out of him, years of repressed anguish that only now had somewhere to go. Despite the darkness, he raised his hands to cover his face, instinctively trying to hide, but at the same time Harry’s hand touched his arm. Draco found himself turning into the warm body, pressing the backs of his hands into Harry’s shoulder and riding the emotion. He vaguely registered Harry stiffening in what he supposed was surprise, but it so quickly dissipated into softness Draco ignored it. A hand was resting on his lower back, and another on the back of his head; he could hear nothing over the sound of his own heart and ragged breathing.

Feeling Harry move, his chest expanding and contracting slowly and regularly, had a remarkable effect on Draco, guiding his body back into a normal rhythm. As the wave of emotion slowed, his breathing evened out and he shifted his hands from his face. He could feel wet cloth beneath him and realised the tears had leaked through his fingers, soaking into Harry’s t-shirt.

When he felt just about normal, Draco shifted a little, registering his position and Harry’s with more clarity. Harry was more or less embracing him, and nothing in his own body language said he was against it. From here, having raised his head a little, Draco’s face was close to Harry’s – very close, though the darkness was almost complete, he could feel the rhythmic disturbance of air that told him someone was breathing within a few inches of his skin.

“Sorry,” Draco muttered, shifting himself a little. He expected Harry to let him go, but while the hand on the back of his head was moving with him, the other arm remained firm across his back.

“Stay, if you want,” Harry said quietly. “I know it can be lonely. Sleeping on your own.”

Draco hesitated. Harry hadn’t said anything about, well anything. Except sleeping. And it was comforting, having someone pressed against him, but there was something missing, and he didn’t know what.

“It’s been a while since you’ve shared a bed?” Harry asked, and it was more statement than fact, so Draco didn’t answer. He was right, anyway. “Can I try something? Nothing weird,” Harry added.

“Okay,” Draco said, his voice coming from far away, somehow. His brain had disconnected somewhere in the last few moments, so it was easier to just go along with Harry.

“Relax,” Harry said, his arms tightening again around Draco. Carefully, he rolled, turning Draco onto his back, Harry’s chest pressing against Draco, bodyweight pressing him into the bed. A small part of Draco’s brain noted that Harry had quite carefully shifted so their hips sat apart; they were pressed together from navel to collarbones, the heavy weight of Harry almost enough to make breathing more difficult. Draco could feel the tension in Harry’s muscles. He was certain that a single word would send Harry retreating, probably blurting apologies as he went.

Carefully, Draco considered how he felt.

The deep pressure permeated to his bones. It was exactly what he needed – how did Harry know that? The uncomfortable resonance in his deep muscle tissue was soothed by the pressure of Harry’s arms as well as his torso; it filled a deep need in him he hadn’t realised had been there until Harry had moved. Hesitantly, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, giving into the hug, pressing his face into the side of Harry’s neck in a move more intimate than he’d initially anticipated. When Harry didn’t move or pull away, Draco decided it wasn’t worth worrying about and instead concentrated on enjoying the pressure – and relief – Harry was offering him.

Deep breathes and his eyelids began to close. The last thing Draco remembered was the brush of a mouth against the curve of his ear before sleep claimed him.

***

The light was wrong, Draco’s brain told him, stubbornly ignoring requests to shut up. And that wasn’t the only thing…

Draco’s eyes flew open. He was still in bed, in his living room. With Harry Potter, who was draped over him, dead to the world.

Not that Draco seemed to have minded – his own arm was slung around Harry’s shoulder, and if he leaned a little to the side he’d be able to kiss Harry good morning. Still, even with all these alarming details, one thing was deemed more important.

_Pay attention, right now, to what’s happening in your pants, Malfoy._

“Merlin,” Draco muttered.

 A morning hard-on was hardly a surprise – all those years in a dormitory had turned it into an irritation more than anything. Experienced by any and all of his roommates, for no reason in particular, and rarely commented on one way or the other.

This was not exactly the same situation.

Carefully, Draco edged his body out from under Harry’s, hoping to resettle him on the pillow.

“Draco?” Harry muttered.

Draco swore to himself again. The last thing he wanted was to have to have a conversation with Harry about last night. “Morning,” Draco said, making a dash for the bathroom. _Coward_ , he told himself as he closed the door. _As if Potter doesn’t know what you’re hiding. A morning broomstick is hardly exclusive to Slytherin._

Despite his self-directed pep talk, Draco showered, shaved, and made sure his towel was securely anchored around his waist before he ventured out of the bathroom. He needn’t have bothered; Harry’s note said he’d gone out and would be back ‘soon’, whenever that would be.

Enough time to get dressed, at least.

Draco was in fact sitting at the table eating a piece of toast when Harry returned not too much later. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Find what you needed?”

“Sent an owl to Shacklebolt,” Harry said, dropping into the seat opposite. He looked completely at ease as far as Draco could tell. “Told him I’d be at his office this afternoon.”

“Today?” Draco repeated. “Right. Um, is there anything…” he trailed off, not entirely sure what he was offering.

Harry shook his head. “How’re you?” he asked, the tone light but a flicker of a glance telling Draco he was hoping not to have crossed some kind of line by mentioning the night before.

“Fine,” Draco said. “Thank you,” he added stiffly. _Now please never mention this again. I think._

“Do you…I didn’t mention your name,” Harry said, less sure of himself now. “When I wrote to Shacklebolt. I just told him I had a contact on this side willing to help out.”

“A contact,” Draco repeated.

“I thought you were done with the Wizarding world?” Harry said. “Seriously, though, do you want to come today?”

“To the Ministry?” Draco said, stalling. A cold rush of fear threaded through his veins at the very idea. “No.” He answered more abruptly than he’d planned.

Harry seemed to be trying to decide if he would say something. Draco waited, impatient but dreading the question he was anticipating.

“How visible do you want to be in this?” Harry asked, and it was not the question Draco was expecting, though it was no less welcome. He hadn’t thought about it, not since his brain had been occupied with other things.

“Um,” Draco said. He frowned, pulling his mind back from the appealing disaster that was Potter’s hair ( _since when are you calling him Potter again?_ ) and considered the question. “I don’t really want to work in Diagon Alley.”

Harry nodded. “Neither do I,” he said. “Not as me, anyway.”

“Not as you?” Draco repeated.

“Well,” Harry said, leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, “I was thinking about this. Neither of us really wants to work in Diagon Alley, but someone has to. Even if we don’t need to _make_ money, it’s probably better not to employ someone until we know how everything’s going to work. Plus, at some point they’d have to meet at least one of us. So there’s the trust thing too.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, the use of ‘us’ and ‘we’ so casually jarring to his senses. Was that how Harry was thinking now? Of them as a team, a couple, a pair…

_A couple._

Draco frowned. “So what are you _(don’t say proposing, find a different word)_ saying we should do?”

“I passed a wig shop on the way back from the Leaky Cauldron,” Harry said. “They sell wigs made from real human hair. According to the woman, they’re made from more than one person, but she could get hold of a ponytail for me. A whole headful of hairs from the same person.”

“Polyjuice Potion,” Draco whispered.

_Brilliant._

“Polyjuice Potion,” Harry agreed. “If we can get hold of a ponytail – the woman thought I was barking, but if I pay her enough she’ll do it – then I can Polyjuice to go to work.”

Draco blinked. “How much hair is in one ponytail?” he asked, feeling ridiculous even as he spoke.

“Enough for us to see if this business is actually viable,” Harry said.

Draco nodded slowly. “Are you sure you’d be okay going to Diagon Alley every day?” he said. Harry hadn’t seemed even slightly prepared to go back, and now he was planning to be there every day?

“Well, not every day,” Harry said. “We’d have days off.” His face grew thoughtful. “If I was there, but not as me…” his voice trailed off.

These flashes of intuition were strange, Draco thought as his mouth opened of its own accord. “You miss it,” he said. When Harry looked at him in surprise, he added, “You don’t miss being Harry Potter, or The Boy Who Whatever, but you miss,” he waved one hand around, “all of that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said finally, after looking at Draco for a long moment. “I kind of do, a bit.”

_Does he mean that?_

“So that’s why you want to work in the Diagon Alley end of things?” Draco asked. It was niggling at him, something about Harry’s motivation. Something that wasn’t quite right.

“Pretty much,” Harry said. He tried for a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, you don’t want to go back at all, so…” he shrugged, looking away.

Draco stared. Was Harry agreeing to go back so that Draco wouldn’t have to? He certainly looked guilty, in the way people did when they knew you wouldn’t approve of their actions.

_Is he…protecting me?_

“Thank you,” Draco said, and when Harry nodded his head, he knew now was not the time to talk about it further. “So, you ready to meet Shacklebolt, then?”

“No,” Harry said and they both chuckled, the tension broken.

“You’re just wanting to avoid your fans,” Draco said, hiding the truth he saw behind a hopefully amusing façade.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Probably gonna Disillusion myself.”

“Can’t do that inside the Ministry,” Draco reminded him.

“I know,” Harry said. “The walk across the atrium is not one I’m looking forward to.”

Draco smiled a bit, sympathetic, but with something else growing inside him, too.

It wasn’t until Harry left later that day Draco realised it was admiration, gratitude…and something else he was not yet willing to name.


	7. Chapter 7

Restless, Draco paced around his flat. Maybe he should have gone with Harry. Just as far as the Leaky Cauldron. He could have kept watch. Specifically what he would be watching for, Draco did not know, but he had a vague feeling that being closer to Harry was better, somehow.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, eyeing off his wand. He’d used it more in the few days since Harry had appeared than in the last few months. The hours he’d spent practicing when he first arrived had petered out as he worked out how to get around, and keep house to a certain extent, without magic. Maybe it would be a good idea to make some changes, anyway. The familiar shape in his hand was warm; the bond between them had been stronger since he’d recovered it from the wreckage at Hogwarts.

Turning, Draco looked around the room. Harry had returned the bed to its original shape, leaving a pile of folded blankets on the end cushion. Apart from that, there was little to show he’d even been here. Would he actually plan on staying longer? It would take at least a month for the Polyjuice Potion to be ready, and although money wasn’t really an issue, Draco had the distinct impression he and Harry would be spending a fair bit of time together as they figured out the details of running their business.

It would make sense for Harry to stay here.

If they lived here, and had their London side of things close by, it would be much easier, Draco thought, idly running one hand over the end of the sofa. Seriously, though, Harry couldn’t keep sleeping here. He’d want some privacy, for a start, and a proper bed would probably be a good idea.

He firmly quashed the suggestion that Harry sleep in his bed.

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” Draco muttered to himself. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”

It had been a long time since he’d done anything so advanced, and certainly never to this extent. He was trying to add a whole extra room, not make his pockets bigger to fit a stash of sweets. With the alternatives being quite unappealing – Harry moving out, or Draco suggesting he move in here then admitting he couldn’t do the necessary magic – his choice was clear.

It would be hours until Harry was back anyway, Draco told himself, gripping his wand. Probably good to start small, anyway.

Levitating things had always been fairly easy; Transfiguration was more difficult, but it went well enough, even the fridge returning to its usual state once Draco had Stunned the gorilla and manhandled him back into place. _Chose something without a brain next time._

There was no point putting it off further – it was time to try the actual spell. Draco expanded the pockets of his jeans fairly successfully, though doing the bottom drawer in his bedroom was tricky; he almost fell in, and gave up trying to change it back for the moment. He could always buy a ladder if he wanted any of those shirts. Or levitate them, now that he was using magic more regularly.

He stood up, taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t be more ready than this – it would either work or it wouldn’t. Studying the living room, Draco shifted a bookshelf, leaving enough of an expanse of wall to accommodate the new doorway.

“Start small,” he reminded himself out loud. “A small cupboard first.”

Pointing his wand at the wall, Draco concentrated, then muttered the incantation.

Nothing happened.

Well, something might have; he realised his eyes were squeezed closed. Squinting, he opened them, pleased to see a brand new doorway exactly where he’d been aiming. A quick look confirmed he’d done it – the door opened into a small cupboard complete with shelves and a hanging rail. He smiled to himself, relieved. _Good thing I didn’t blow myself up or anything._

Now to expand it. He could hardly expect Harry to sleep in a cupboard, after all. Draco closed the door and stepped back, taking his time again, visualising what he wanted.

Again, he pointed his wand at the wall, and again, he muttered the incantation.

The world expanded, flaring bright white before collapsing in. And then…nothing.

***

“Draco?”

The voice was muffled but insistent. Draco wondered if it had anything to do with the shaking, something was shaking him…

“Draco! Merlin’s beard, are you alright?”

The shaking hadn’t stopped, but the voice was closer now. Other things were making themselves known, too – a smell, acrid and awful; the feel of something lumpy under him, a sharp pain in his head and another in his side.

“Ugh,” Draco managed. He didn’t try to open his eyes, but the shaking seemed to increase even further.

“Draco! Can you speak?”

“Stop…stop shaking me,” Draco groaned. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Ow,” he added, as trying to roll over showed itself to be a spectacularly bad idea.

“Where are you hurt?” the voice asked. When Draco controlled one arm well enough to indicate where his head was throbbing, something warm brushed over it, stinging.

“Sorry,” the voice muttered. The sensation came again, and with it, relief from the pain.

“Can you sit up?”

Draco, irritated at not knowing who this person was, blinked hard, taking a minute to focus on the face before him. He frowned. _Looks like Potter but no glasses, that can’t be right._

“Potter?” Draco asked.

A wry laugh. “Are we back to that again?”

A hand reached out to touch his head, and at the contact, Draco’s memory flooded back.

_Bar. Drink. Nightmares. Shacklebolt._

“Harry,” Draco breathed, blinking now, still looking up at him.

“Let’s sit you up,” Harry said.

Draco complied, wincing at the pull in his side. It wasn’t that serious, he thought; had worse on the Quidditch pitch. Still, it wasn’t ideal, and moving reminded him of it with every slight shift.

He looked around, eyes wide at the destruction. What hadn’t been singed had blown over, broken furniture scattered across the floor. He remembered all too well what he had been attempting, and the realisation that he’d have to admit that to Harry now was…uncomfortable.

“You alright?” Harry asked, and Draco was quite pleased to put off the ‘what the hell were you doing?’ conversation until later.

“Yeah,” Draco replied. He stood up, tentatively turning his head, relieved to see his wand lying close by on the floor.

“Woah, woah,” Harry said, as Draco stooped to pick up his wand and almost keeled over. “Let’s get you sitting down on something more comfortable, shall we?” He surveyed the damage and decided on something different. “Come on, in here.”

Harry was trying to get him to lie down on his bed, but Draco resisted. “My clothes are singed,” he said. He sniffed at the shoulder of his shirt, turning up his nose. “I think I need a shower, actually.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “Why don’t I try and clean up some of that?” he pointed back out to the living room.

“Yeah, thanks,” Draco replied, feeling himself flush.

_Idiot._

He tried not to think about the conversation he was surely about to have with Harry. A quick shower, clean clothes – he’d un-Expanded the drawer without a problem this time, what was with that? – and Draco stepped back out into the living room. Braced for the worst, he had to blink for a second, taking in the sight.

It looked exactly the same as when Harry had first walked in. Better, probably; Harry was now sitting on the sofa, a cup of tea at his elbow, smiling up from his newspaper.

“Better?” he asked.

“Better,” Draco replied. “Still a bit of ringing in my ears, but I’ll survive.”

“Tea?” Harry offered, pointing to the coffee table.

“No, thanks,” Draco replied. He shot a surreptitious look at the corner, disappointment fizzing down his spine to see the new door gone, the bookcase back in its place.

“So,” Harry said, “Should we talk about what you were doing, or how my meeting with Shacklebolt went?”

“Shacklebolt,” Draco replied immediately.

“Well,” Harry said, standing up and pacing dramatically, “He was interested enough to listen to the whole idea.”

“Right,” Draco said warily. Harry clearly wanted to milk this moment, the least he could do was let him.

“And he approved it on the spot,” Harry said, proving Draco’s ‘milking it’ theory wrong. He stopped, arms out, huge grin on his face. “We can open as soon as we like, with full Ministry approval, and he’s even agreed to let us operate under aliases.”

Harry’s excitement was infectious, and Draco didn’t think; he stepped forward, wrapping Harry in a huge hug. “Brilliant!” he said, the word muffled against Harry’s shoulder. _We’re doing this._

_Also, we’re hugging. Still._

Harry’s arms had closed around Draco too; it was strange to hug someone again. To be hugged. Even at school, where house pride and Quidditch had often resulted in group celebrations, the male Slytherins – the ones Draco knew, anyway – never really went in for hugging.

Salazar knew his father never hugged him.

While Draco’s mind had gone into overdrive on the topic of hugs, the world had continued to turn, and he and Harry stood in the middle of his living room, arms still around each other. It wasn’t weird, until it was.

Draco had no idea what tipped it over the edge. His arms relaxed a little, uncertain where Harry stood on the matter of how long a hug should go for. Harry’s, in turn, did the same, but neither let go. The blast of excitement that had propelled Draco forward in the first place had drained away, leaving them standing close, now in an embrace no longer fuelled by the thrill of a win.

So what was this, then?

Draco didn’t let go, because Harry didn’t.

He closed his eyes, feeling the desire crawl up, wanting to be noticed, to be acted upon. He couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ ; what if he did, and Harry left? It was far too likely, so Draco would have to be satisfied with what he could get. No kissing, nothing even remotely obvious. Small touches, quiet words whispered in the dark, cuddling all night and never speaking of it.

A deep breath, and scent was in his nose, identifiable immediately as a mix of Draco’s soap, Harry’s tea, and the last wisps of smoke from the explosion. Draco treasured it, tucking away the knowledge for later even as his reluctant hands parted behind Harry, ready to let him go.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice rumbled through his chest and into Draco, making his breath hitch just a little.

“Yeah?” he replied. Harry’s hands still rested on Draco’s shoulders. He could feel their warmth and pressure, and in a dim corner of his brain, he noticed his own hands were still touching Harry too – one was on his neck, how had that happened? Harry didn’t seem to mind, and if Draco concentrated, he imagined he could feel Harry’s heart, beating quite fast, actually.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

It was strange to hear and feel the words at the same time, Draco thought. “For what?” he managed. _Can he feel my words too?_

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Harry said quietly.

“I’m sure you would have managed,” Draco replied awkwardly. Harry’s hands loosened now too, and space grew between them; not a lot, just enough for them to look at each other. Green eyes, Draco thought, they really were remarkably green.

“No,” Harry said with certainty, “I wouldn’t. I’d’ve ended up locked away in some little flat, doing nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad,” Draco said defensively. He tried for a smile, but the muted despair in Harry’s voice at the idea of living the way Draco had been…it stung.

Harry’s eyes softened. “Wasn’t it?” he asked.

Draco stared, wondering how much Harry was asking him to reveal. He’d barely had a conversation at all in the last few years, let alone anything even approaching this personal.

“Lonely,” Draco whispered. “It was lonely.”

“And now?” Harry asked.

When his mouth moved, turning up a little into a smile, it was natural for Draco to look at it, for his eyes to linger and the new shape, to try and probe the dark space between his lips. It was natural, too, for the hand on Harry’s neck to slide up, moulding to the shape of his jaw, thumb caressing the very edge of his mouth.

It certainly was natural for Draco’s breathing, long since matched to Harry’s, to hitch, to feel the exhalation on his face when Harry breathed, air rushing out at his touch.

When Harry closed his eyes, Draco watched, knowing his mouth was drooping open at the sight. He made a tiny movement with his thumb, stroking the barest edge of Harry’s mouth, where the skin was soft but not wet. Testing. Still not entirely sure this was happening.

It was all normal, right? A completely natural reaction to good news.

It occurred to Draco as his thumb moved back and forward barely a centimetre, that Harry’s closed eyes were a sign of trust. To be standing here in this recently demolished room with Draco, eyes closed as Draco’s hands were on him, showed more trust than Draco had been gifted in a long time. _Maybe he wants this too._

The idea was ludicrous but tempting. Carefully, without changing anything, Draco took stock of the rest of Harry. His hands were still on Draco’s waist; the fingers flexing a little. Holding back.

_Maybe…_

Carefully. A little pressure. A little sweep further, encouraging Harry’s lower jaw to relax, to open.

When his thumb swiped through moisture, Draco shuddered.

It was the last solid memory for a while; so many things changing.

Noises – a groan from Harry, fast breathing, a sign of relief as their lips met, pressing open, making no pretence at tentativeness.

Sharp points of pain, quickly melted into desire, where Harry’s fingers bit into his skin and teeth scraped against his lower lip.

The confusion of hands, bodies, arms finding places while eyes were closed, bodies pressing, seeking to be closer.

Sometime later – presumably minutes, but Draco wouldn’t bet on it – they broke apart, panting into the same air, arms tangled, bodies pressed close.

 _Well_ , Draco thought to himself, _what the hell do we do now?_


	8. Chapter 8

“Draco,” Harry whispered, easing his body away.

A hot run of disappointment pulsed through Draco and he tried to prepare himself for the _I didn’t mean it let's just be friends_ conversation that was surely coming. With an immense effort, he focused, locking his gaze on Harry’s eyes. Pushing down the emotions welling in him.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing in here while I was gone?”

The question was so unexpected it made Draco pause. “What?”

Harry grinned, sliding one hand down Draco’s arm to take his hand. He stepped back, dropping onto the sofa and pulling Draco down with him in a decidedly closer-than-friends tangle. “I’m guessing you were attempting some kind of Expansion Charm on your wall over there.”

Still a little stunned, Draco nodded. “I told you I wasn’t very good at Undetectable Extension Charms,” he said. To his relief, Harry leaned in to kiss him again. It was less burning passion and more gentle affection but Draco cherished it no less than the previous. Perhaps even more, given the purpose it served: to confirm with him that this wasn’t a single moment of passion.

_It’s not just me. Holy shit, this is actually happening._

“Were you making…what were you making?” Harry asked.

Draco felt himself flush and cursed his pale skin. “I thought you might want a proper bedroom,” he said. “Instead of sleeping on the sofa forever.”

Harry raised one eyebrow, obviously amused. “Or moving out?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Draco admitted. He made a half smile, drawing Harry’s eyes and mouth in quick succession, and before he know it they were kissing again, right there on his sofa. Harry’s hand was in his hair, fingers sinking into his scalp. Draco groaned at the sensation. His own fingers were clinging to Harry, though where exactly he didn’t know. There was muscle, taut under his hands, and as Harry shifted and the shape changed, Draco felt a thrill pulse through him.

_Merlin, this is incredible._

When it finally broke, Draco found himself smiling at Harry.

With a grin, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the wall. He didn’t even look and Draco didn’t hear him speak, but a rush of magic blew through, and all of a sudden a doorway appeared. It stood open into a wide room beyond.

“Show off,” Draco grumbled.

“We could do with an office,” Harry said, “assuming you’re okay with me sharing your bed now.”

Draco’s heart stuttered then started beating double time. “Of course,” he replied.

Shuffling around until he was comfortable, Draco asked, “So what else happened while you were there?”

Harry shrugged. “I picked up enough supplies for us to start the Polyjuice Potion. It’ll take a month or so which should be enough time to get everything else organised.” He grinned. “I also ran into a reporter I know.”

“Not Skeeter?” Draco asked.

“Nope,” Harry said. “Actually, they work for The Quibbler. It’s much more accepted now, you know. I told them they could have the exclusive about our new shop as long as they kept our names out of it. And,” he grinned, “I also ran into the Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet. Might have accidentally put him in a Body Bind while I told him that I knew the people opening the only Muggle-Wizard Liason Office, and they wouldn’t be stocking the Daily Prophet if there was anything nasty by Rita Skeeter in it.”

Draco laughed, the unexpected news sending a thrill through him. “Brilliant,” he said. “Do you think he’ll take it seriously?”

“Should do,” Harry smirked, “I told him I’d be giving free copies of The Quibbler if his wasn’t up to scratch. They’ve already become a whole lot more popular since the War. I don’t think the Editor can afford to lose many more customers.”

“A very sneaky move,” Draco said. “This Slytherin is proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He stretched. “I also put in an offer on a shopfront on Diagon Alley. We’ll be able to start advertising soon, and once the Polyjuice Potion’s ready, we can get started.”

“We can go out and look for a Muggle shop tomorrow,” Draco said. He frowned. “We’ll have to figure out the Floo network connection too, and the Apparition point.”

“We’ll make a list,” Harry said. “We do have a whole month to hammer out the details.”

“We do,” Draco replied. He sighed. Incredible to think that just a week ago he was wandering around London aimlessly, no plan for his life. Not a lot of anything, really. And now he had a business plan, and he and Harry were…well, whatever label they wanted to put on it, Draco was tentatively thinking they could possibly be at the start of something really good.

“I was thinking,” Draco said, “actually, the idea just came to me now, but it could be a lot easier for Muggle families if they got some information about it with the student’s Hogwarts letter. They won’t have any-oof!”

He was cut off as Harry kissed him hard. By the time he’d recovered enough to reciprocate Harry had pulled away, panting hard. “That’s very considerate,” Harry said, breathing heavily.

“Well that’s our main customer base, isn’t it?” Draco said, shrugging off the praise as he tried to catch his breath. It still left a warm feeling in his belly, knowing Harry could see the effort he was making. It was addictive. It made him want to try harder.

Maybe that’s what all this is for, Draco thought. Maybe none of this could have happened if I hadn’t left the Wizarding World in the first place. He wasn’t generally one to believe in fate or any of that Divination nonsense, but deciding to accept that something good happened as a result (indirect though it may be) of something so difficult…that was an idea he could consider entertaining. Probably.

“I think my father would be very disappointed in me,” Draco said. He saw Harry’s face fill with uncertainty and added hastily, “Oh, don’t worry, that’s a good thing.” He grinned. “If there’s one thing I should probably do with my life, it’s keep making choices that would disappoint him.”

Harry nodded, though uncertainly. “If that makes you happy,” he said.

“I think it will,” Draco replied. With a smile, he reached up to kiss Harry again.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're done! I hope you've enjoyed following this story. Thank you to everyone who has come along from the start <3


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